


Lesson Two; On Candied Fruit and the Merits and Dangers of Self-Propelled Locomotion

by an_evasive_author



Series: Continued Studies of Fatherhood [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Domestic Bliss, F/M, Family Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 14:56:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19703707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_evasive_author/pseuds/an_evasive_author
Summary: Fëanáro asks very little of the world around him. Unfortunately, even such modesty gets scorned and the world does its best to beat him down. After all, why else would anyone in their right mind put candied cherries on cake if not to ridicule Fëanáro personally?But that said, what else could the worldpossiblythrow at him to mock him than it already does?





	Lesson Two; On Candied Fruit and the Merits and Dangers of Self-Propelled Locomotion

Nerdanel liked to believe she knew her husband quite well by now.

Like everything Fëanáro embodied, his passions where as bright, hot and fast-fleeting like the fire he worked so closely with. He would have a project, an idea that would consume him until nothing else mattered. And then he would move on without ever sparing his past whimsy another glance.

Luckily, Nerdanel knew how to stoke her husband's fire so that it burned only for her.

This largely involved showing her thighs as she visited Fëanáro in his workshop to fetch something. _Oh_ , but how _forgetful_ Nerdanel was; It was not in the cupboard where she had to stretch to get up to; Nor the one on the other side of the room where she had to bend down. How _terribly_ forgetful she was. What could she do but wander about the room as she searched.

The sounds coming from Fëanáro became less rhythmic and controlled and Nerdanel could feel her husband studying her very closely now.

“Such wonderful legs, wife of mine,” Fëanáro admitted and turned his heads to leer at Nerdanel a little longer. Perfectly tasteful, of course. He hummed thoughtfully, twitched his ear. “It should be forbidden to seduce me so; You are keeping me from my work.”

Nerdanel, who indeed flexed her shapely thighs to prevent Fëanáro from once more sinking himself into frenzied work, smiled innocently.

It was comforting to know that some things never changed.

Work was forgotten, as Nerdanel had hoped; The current project had moved down on the list of priorities.

There was now only the question if Maitimo would remain entertained for a little while. Just long enough for his parents to do as parents did.

Maitimo was placed on his soft rug, the wind-chime near the window and a cloth dolphin provided ample distraction. And of course there was the ever-present glow of enchanted lanterns to paint pretty shapes onto the ceiling and the walls. He cooed happily as his parents made to do naughty things in the room next door, wholly oblivious.

* * *

It was somewhat of a challenge to keep entirely quiet, but they had to rise up to it. It would not do to have their son listen to them, yet they could not afford to not to hear if the child had need of them.

But somehow they prevailed through it and when it was done, they rested on the settee and cooled off.

Fëanáro hummed and twirled one of Nerdanel's auburn locks between his fingers while Nerdanel traced invisible patterns on Fëanáro's hard chest.

“Did you hear anything?” Nerdanel asked suddenly.

There was the tell-tale sound of Maitimo burbling about, which was rather strange, considering the child had been left in his nursery.

Fëanáro raised his head, swivelled his ears to listen and hummed.

Nerdanel too pricked her ears. But there was no crying and so she lowered her cheek back onto Fëanáro's collar bone.

“The question is if _he_ heard anything, you do forget yourself from time to time.” Fëanáro said and got silenced quite roughly as Nerdanel bit his lip and ground herself against her helpless, hapless husband.

“It is not me who cannot keep silent to save his son's innocence.” she murmured into his ear, though the both of them where certain nothing too soul-scarring had left the room.

Not that their marital pursuits where anything to be ashamed of, of course not.

There was that twittering sound again and Fëanáro stilled his hands. Nerdanel huffed, “Why did you stop, love?” she asked and mouthed at her husband's ear.

There was a squeaky, skreaky, chirp like a little bird who demanded attention.

Both elves looked down from the sofa. Maitimo, who now lay there on the carpet, looked up with wide eyes. What good fortune that he had not yet witnessed his parents doing anything unspeakable.

Demonstrating just how he had gotten into the room, he rocked from side to side until he had built momentum and suddenly rolled closer. It appeared that Maitimo had just found out the freedom that was self-propelled locomotion. Only... it seemed that crawling was not quite to his taste.

Apparently the floors had not been as clean as they looked, for Maitimo was sporting a few dust bunnies and a bit of lint on his clothes when he had rolled underneath the furniture to save time and distance.

“Is this what you do when your parents are not watching you, my child? Practising your escape routes?” asked Fëanáro as Nerdanel shrugged on her dress and climbed off him to fetch their son.

“Do not say it like that, you make it sound as if we treat him wrong,” Nerdanel admonished him and grabbed little Maitimo who blinked oblivious and wide-eyed before burbling and gnawing at his fist with toothless gums.

Fëanáro watched his wife smooth away dirt and pick away dust from Maitimo but made no effort to rise himself. At least not until Nerdanel threw his clothes over and sauntered off.

It bothered him greatly enough to consider asking for advice. And of course there was one person he always went to when he felt truly helpless.

But first he needed to get dressed. It would not do to come to his father's court like this.

Finwe did not share his son's trepidation about the whole thing. Instead Finwe was simply happy to have his tiny grandson over and know that Fëanáro and Nerdanel would stay for tea.

“I am certain there is nothing to worry about,” said Finwe gently when the little family had gathered to discuss this new turn of events.

Indis, who had glared back at Fëanáro's unabashedly rude stares, had retreated to the tearoom with Nerdanel. Most likely doing what elleths did, Fëanáro supposed and was not certain what that was.

Now only Fëanáro, Finwe and Maitimo remained and Fëanáro busied himself with recreating the experiment, which meant he put his tiny son on one end of the room and asked his father to join him in the other.

Where before there would have been frustration and crying at being left alone, now Maitimo merely squinted in concentration and made his rolling way over to them.

Realising that he had overshot his goal, Maitimo huffed and scooted with the power of thrusting his hips about and around until he was once more focused on Finwe. Then, just as determined as before, he fell over again and began to roll once more.

“ _There_ ,” smiled Finwe and smoothed the frazzled fuzz on top of Maitimo's head back down. The child cooed, visibly pleased with himself.

Fëanáro sighed wearily and wiped his face with both hands, letting them linger before he felt ready to face the world again.

“Do you not see it, Atar? What is this, I ask you.” Fëanáro said, nearly whined it even. This was not how Fëanáro had imagined it and therefore it was terrible. “This is not how it is supposed to be. He should crawl. This is-- All of this is _wrong_.” Why could his father not _see_ that?

Finwe, his smile serene and peaceful, “Oh but is it truly? He gets around just fine it seems. Maybe not in the gardens, but inside at the very least.” said Finwe and brushed Maitimo's nose playfully. The child snapped harmless gums at his grandfather's fingers and gave a little thrill. “Though perhaps I will have the servants sweep the tearoom again. Just to be certain he does not drag remnants of wayward teacakes around.”

To Maitimo, Finwe dropped his voice to a conspirational whisper, “Won't you, my pretty child?” And louder, “That is of course not to say that anyone here insists on spraying his crumbs around whenever he tries to discard his candied cherries, right Fëanáro?”

Fëanáro pressed his ears back and followed behind Finwe who rocked his grandson against his chest.

Fëanáro had never understood how anyone could tolerate these awfully sweet, sticky miscreations that could be found on any decent teacake come the colder months. Wishing for tea, the time was right after all, yet dreading the terrible, awful prospect of candied fruit, he followed his father to the tearoom.

* * *

He halted his frustrated sigh only because Indis was there. Well, Indis and two of her unholy spawns. Findis and Nolofinwe both sat there as if they had any _right_ to be with them; To taint this room with their presence. There was no reason, no reason at all other than to seduce and twist and bait Finwe away from him. With every passing day Finwe, his poor, simple father, was lured farther away from Fëanáro.

And why was there a candied cherry on his cake if he had _specifically ordered_ _ **not**_ _**to**_ \- No! No, he could not get angry now. Not in such close quarters with his family sitting next to him. Instead he waited until all attention was on Maitimo who cooed to himself and looked around the room with unrestrained awe. He made noises that sounded somewhat like very garbled speech, as long as one interpreted creatively anyway.

Then, sensing his chance, Fëanáro placed the cherry on the edge of his delicate plate and flicked it away so quickly, it was merely a red little blur as it was catapulted out the nearest window.

Now finally satisfied with the state of things, Fëanáro deftly split his cake in two, then into four and speared some of it on his fork and devoured it with all the princely decorum appropriate.

His ears did not waggle in delight but he did note the carefully flavoured cream and found it pleasurable. How the cake stuck in his throat when he saw Finwe looking at him, unamused.

Finwe shook his head and turned back to Maitimo who waved his fists around and ate his mushed apple. A bit of whipped cream had been used to decorate Maitimo's portion and it was quite easy to see that Maitimo greatly desired the dollop. But first the rest had to go and the cream would perhaps encourage the child to eat all of his fruit first.

“A roller, eh?” Findis asked finally to break the silence.

Fëanáro made to snap back something sarcastic, simply because he could, but Nerdanel pinched him underneath the table and Fëanáro remained still. Oh, but how it itched him to reply.

“So it would appear,” Finwe agreed. He turned to the tiny elf, eyes alight with such happiness that Fëanáro could not quite decide if he wanted to be jealous at not getting the same attention or smug that it was _his_ son who inspired such a pleased expression. “His speed is something to marvel at, though perhaps his steering needs a little practice still. Might get dizzy from time to time, though I suppose walking will follow sooner rather than later.”

Maitimo, in his sagely ways, blew a raspberry.

And then he lunged for the whipped cream.

* * *

Bottling his disdain was tiring work and so Fëanáro turned down the invitation for supper and went home; Claiming that Maitimo needed to be in bed came as a welcomed excuse.

It was not a lie, not really. Maitimo was not quite able to pull long, exhausting stretches of work like his parents just yet. Oh, he could effortlessly wake up several times between his rests and let everyone know about it.

It was more an exaggeration, the child seemed too elated to try his new skill to settle down any time soon.

Splayed out on the carpet, with all paper safely tucked away from greedy, grubby hands, Fëanáro watched his son roll around and explore this new, exciting freedom.

Of course, Maitimo's sight would be interrupted whenever his face mushed into the carpet but perhaps this would give him a unique outlook on life.

Nerdanel entered the room, the book she had wished to read under her arm. Maitimo adjusted his course and steered towards her with all the purpose one so small could muster. The speed was, in Fëanáro's opinion, quite considerable.

Nerdanel lifted her feet, careful not to step on him for the tantrum that would result would be terrible indeed, and kneeled down to stroke Maitimo's head before joining her husband. Maitimo, utterly blind-sided in the face of such clever deception, remained lying there, stunned.

Then, he corrected his course and aimed for his father who caught the rolling menace before anything could happen.

“I was thinking,” Fëanáro said and smoothed Maitimo's hair once more.

“Sounds dangerous,” Nerdanel murmured, nose in her book and her head resting on Fëanáro's hip.

“Ai, what a harrier you are.” Fëanáro huffed but continued as he pulled Maitimo closer, “Perhaps it is just as well that he rolls.”

“Hmh...”

“After all,” Fëanáro said, “Who else can claim to have a son who rolls? Crawling, how utterly boring! _No_ ,” he called and raised Maitimo higher, “Once more I prove my greatness!”

Nerdanel huffed an amused breath and rolled her eyes at her husbands antics, “Then I suppose you will put gates on the stairs come tomorrow? And sweep your workshop properly. After all, he tracks an awful lot of dirt with him like this.”

Maitimo squealed happily as he was held higher and flapped his arms.

Perhaps his son would brave the skies next, Fëanáro mused. After all, the ground was already firmly under Maitimo's control.


End file.
